When will George Finally Listen?
by Jack of the North
Summary: George has enlisted Hermione to help him find his perfect match. But how long will it take him to realise that he just needs to put himself in her hands and let her to her job?
1. Chapter 1

"Hermione," George whispered.

"George," Hermione whispered back.

The room, and audience, around them was silent and dark with the exception of shuffles coming from the actors. On stage the full figured woman dressed up as a Viking's wife opened her mouth and began the song. Someone behind them hushed them but on stage, the blond opera singe warbled on, oblivious to the conversation happening in the second row.

Hermione kept her eyes on stage but turned her head slightly to the left in the direction of George, letting him know that she was indeed listening. Her eyes darted quickly to his face, closer then she expected, when he laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

Though any lights were shining directly onto the stage and the mourning Viking's wife, she could clearly see George's face, looking exasperated and bored. Past his shoulder, she could see Henrietta, his date. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, a delicate handkerchief in her hand. She sniffed once.

Hermione turned her attention back to George, hiding the disdainful expression that had threatened to brake out onto her face at the display of the flighty, overemotional muggle girl from the local village. The awed look George had held at the beginning of the night when they'd picked Henrietta up was gone and as Hermione watched him, waiting for him to speak, his eyes darted to the exit twice before finally settling back on Hermione's face.

"Kill me," he murmured so quietly Hermione barely heard him. But his lips twitched in a self-deprecating smile and Hermione pressed hers together firmly to restrain the giggle that attempted to escape.

She leaned in closely to George, her lips brushing against his shaggy orange hair.

"I told you so."

"What are you two whispering about?" Harry demanded from Hermione's other side. He leaned around Hermione to get a better look at George.

"This is doing my head in," he confessed, not bothering to keep his voice low. Hermione shot a quick glance at Henrietta but the girl was oblivious, staring up at the stage, lost in the story of the adulterous Vikings.

Hermione took a moment to study her. She was about their age, early twenties, but her personality and the way she dressed made her seem younger; like a school girl of just fifteen or sixteen. Tonight she was dressed in a bright pink long tight dress. It was cut low at her back exposing soft creamy skin. Her blond hair hung in gentle waves over her shoulders and her big brown eyes seemed even larger as they filled with tears watching the Viking leave his wife for his mistress. She was pretty, Hermione supposed. In a very generic way.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Hermione told you so."

George grimaced and settled back into his chair. He hated to be wrong, especially against Hermione, so he gritted his teeth and looked to Henrietta. Hermione wondered if he was determining if she was worth it. Apparently the answer was no for not even a minute later, George was on his feet, muttering his excuses. As soon as he had cleared the row of seats, he bolted up the aisle.

Hermione and Harry put their heads together and snickered, ignoring the 'shushes' from the other patrons.

"When will he learn to listen?" Harry wondered.

Hermione shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Next to George's empty seat, Henrietta seemed oblivious. She sniffed again and wept along with the Viking's wife.

* * *

Hermione sighed and hung up the dress in her crowded wardrobe after a quick cleaning spell. She surveyed the clothes a moment before moving to her vanity table and sitting down in front of the gilded mirror. Another agonising night. Another failed attempt to set George up with whoever had taken his fancy that particular week. Another heartache. Hers. When she had agreed to be George's 'matchmaker' it had seemed like a fun idea. A silly bit of frivolity to distract her from her stressful job at the Ministry. A fun way to regularly check in with the Weasleys when she may have otherwise let work weigh her down.

What she hadn't counted on was falling for George _herself_. Hermione gave her reflection a disgusted look before violently tearing the brush through her hair. In her eyes, she was no better then a swooning countess from the nineteenth century, straight out a trashy romance novel. She was such a sensible young woman and she hated that she was force to resort to hiding her feelings and acting as George's personal dating service when she would much rather be setting something up between _them._

But whenever she came face to face with him, all the sensible and logical thoughts flew straight out of her head leaving behind a nervous and self-conscious Hermione. Not that anyone would see this. To anyone watching her she would continue to regard George as little more then a jokester who thought of nothing to flit from one woman to the next.

From the floor above her the notes of Poison's 'Every Rose Has its Thorns' drifted down to her. Hermione checked her watch. 11 o'clock. Right on time. Despite herself, she laughed. The couple above her were hardcore eighties fans and every night at eleven o'clock the song would start up followed by… Hermione pressed play on her own stereo as the rhythmic squeak of the bedsprings started up.

She shut off the light and climbed into her large bed. As they usually did, her thoughts drifted to George. These nights after the dates were the worse. During the week she could force her mind to work, friends, rent and bills but on the weekends, after the dates, she couldn't help but analyse everything. Tonight had deteriorated a lot faster then usually. Hermione would like to tell herself it was because of the new dress _she_ had been wearing but she reluctantly admitted that George's distaste of Opera had been the deciding factor.

She had warned him that any girl who was that enthusiastic about the Opera was not likely going to be the love of his life. But he had spoken so earnestly about love being able to overcome any major differences that she had simply smiled blindly at him and agreed to indulge him in his latest whim.

Hermione rolled onto her side, her self-loathing growing as she realised that this wasn't the first time George had managed to wrap her around his proverbial little finger. Alas, she seemed to not be able to deny him anything. And he did it all without being aware of anything. Not a thing. For all she knew, he still saw her as Ron's little sister. The not-quite-girly third of the Golden Trio.

A hesitant smile twisted her lips as Hermione remembered the astonished look on both Harry and George's face as she met them at the Burrow before picking up Henrietta. It was a similar look from the Yule Ball in Fourth Year and Bill's Wedding before what would have been their Seventh Year. Always the face of shock. An insulting compliment, as if they could never quite get their heads around that fact that she was indeed a beautiful, vivacious young woman.

Ron had. He'd seen it. True, it had taken him awhile, but he had seen it. Then he'd _seen_ one of Ginny's friends and… well, that was neither here nor there. He was happy and she was happy for them. She would always love Ron, but she had long accepted that the love she felt for him would never had translated into a physical relationship. They could no doubt love each other, but theirs would have been a passionless union.

Hermione shook away thoughts of Ron and instead focussed on George's appreciative inspection of her appearance from earlier in the night. With those pleasant thoughts in her mind, and the silence of the night - after the bedsprings stilled and both stereos switched off - in her ears, she happily drifted off into pleasant dreams featuring an intimate dinner for two, no matchmaking, just love.


	2. Chapter 2

A few streets away, George sat before the fireplace in the flat he had once shared with his twin brother. Fred had been gone from here for a long time. But George couldn't be angry at his brother, not when he saw how happy he was with Angelina, not when he held his nephew and knew he was born from love.

"Love. That elusive passion we all chase," George said solemnly to the empty room. The fire crackled and he took another sip of his drink. It was becoming an alarmingly frequent tradition; home alone, drowning in his loneliness.

Hermione had been right. Again. And again and again. He didn't know why she still put up with him. He'd begged her for help and then insisted he knew better at every turn. The few women he had let her set him up with had all been nice, funny, beautiful. One had been perfect, a girl version of himself with everything he could hope for in a woman and more but…

His thoughts trailed off as her mentally evaluated all the women he had dated over the past six months since he had enlisted Hermione's help. Most were beautiful, a few truly stunning, some funny, a couple of real disasters, like tonight. He had endured every type of women, from both ends of the spectrum and the only constant among them was Hermione's amused face in the background, watching him fail miserably.

He had been to restaurants, cinemas, parks, Quidditch games and football matches, theatres, cafés and bars. Nothing; next to no success. Certainly with none of the woman he had chosen for himself. The only women who he had shown any interest in were the ones Hermione had picked for him.

George sighed and turned to his owl, Randolph. "What do you think? Let her have complete control?" he asked the owl. Randolph looked up at him for a moment before tucking his head back under his wing. "Thanks," George said sarcastically. "You were really the deciding factor."

Randolph simply buried deeper under his wing and continued to ignore George. Acting before he could change his mind, George quickly penned a note to Hermione and roused the unhelpful bird. Though upset at being disturbed, Randolph accepted the letter and took off into the night.

Feeling he had at least made the first small steps towards seriously attempting to find a match, George stripped off his elegant evening attire, leaving them where they fell in a messy path to his room and climbed into bed, naked. The cool sheets felt wonderful against his overheated skin, the alcohol and the fire having warmed him.

He wondered who Hermione would set him up with next as he listened to the occasional footsteps in Diagon Alley and the fire crackling in the other room. He had told her to do anything she wanted with him that she felt would prepare him best for finding a suitable match. He had completely turned himself over to her care.

George sat up as he heard the fire flare into renewed life and someone step through into his flat. He silently picked his wand up off the bedside table where he had left it. His eyes widened in surprise as Hermione pushed his door open and slid silently into his room.

"Hermione," he croaked before clearing his throat. She was a vision. Through the open door, he could see the flames dancing in the fireplace in the main room behind her, making her skin glow. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, a beautiful mahogany brown. Her silk nightgown clung to her skin and the knowledge that she was a beautiful, desirable woman hit George like a sudden punch to the gut.

"You said you put yourself in my hands. I'm to do with you what I wish? Hand you over to whichever woman I feel would be best suited to you?" she asked. George nodded and shifted in his bed, uncomfortably and delightfully aware that he wore nothing beneath the covers and she wore little more in front of him.

"I can't," Hermione said, drawing his attention away from her glowing skin to her full mouth. "I'm too selfish. You can't give yourself to me to give to someone else. Ask someone else to do it. I can't for one minute more in good faith put other women in your path. I know with perfect clarity that I would deliberately set about to betray that trust and keep you for my own. Don't ask it of me."

He stared at her a moment longer, processing her words, what she was telling him.

"Come here," he demanded, his voice lower and huskier then he remembered it ever being.

Hermione obeyed as if under a spell. George shifted slightly, making room for her on the bed. She sat delicately on the edge, the creamy fabric of her gown falling against her thighs. She licked her lips and her eyes dropped to his naked chest and lower where the sheet tented in that particular way.

George's hand came up to sweep the hair that had fallen over her shoulder back out of the way, revealing the supple skin of her chest. His hand trailed down over the swell of her breasts, his fingers brushed over the rosy nipple visible through the thin silk. It tightened instantly in response, standing erect against his fingertips.

He lingered there only a moment though, as he continued down to where Hermione's hand lay against the sheets. Her breath remained steady and even as he picked up her hand and placed in against what was making the sheet tent so. George leaned forward, his breath warm against her cheek as he brushed his lips in a trail across her cheeks to her lips.

"I don't take it back," he said softly, cupping her cheek before pressing his lips firmly against hers. Hermione moaned in pleasure as George's lips moved against hers, his thumb stroking against her rapid pulse at her throat, sending delicate shivers down her spine.

His mouth moved over her cheek, his breath warm and sweet, until it came to rest at her ear. His teeth captured the lobe and Hermione could feel him moist tongue as it danced across her sensitive skin. Her body trembled at the different sensations, the sharpness of his teeth, the softness of his tongue.

"I'm putting myself in your hands," he whispered harshly in her ear before reclaiming her lips.

Beneath her hand, she felt him stiffen further as she gently caressed him to fullness. His lips continued to move against her, coaxing open her willing mouth. His tongue flicked out, sampling her taste before fully entering her mouth.

Hermione luxuriated in the taste of him; Firewhisky and some heady aroma she identified as just being George. Something she had only smelt and dreamed of poured concentrated over her senses as his tongue plunged into her mouth, exploring every sweet corner. Their tongues encountered each other, tasting, dancing, swaying together. Hot and sweet and everything a kiss should be.

His body pressed hard and firm against hers and Hermione pressed back. She could feel the long lean length of his body against her. His taut muscled chest rubbed against her sensitive breasts, eliciting another moan. George shifted slightly and Hermione didn't resist as he pushed her back into the soft mattress.

The feel of his body against her was nothing to the feel of it over her. The weight of him as he pressed her into the bed ignited a deep longing in Hermione. It began deep in her belly, spreading out into every crevice of her limbs, but always radiating from that distinctive area.

Hermione wondered how his mouth on hers could set her whole body on fire. And it was. Every inch of her that touched him was aware of his firm, warm flesh. Her hands roamed freely over his back, memorising the muscles and skin. She gasped in surprise when she encountered no waistband or material over his backside.

"You're naked," she accused as his mouth travelled over her jaw and across her neck.

"Indeed," he answered, barely pausing. "You should be too."

His hand tugged at the thick strap of her nightgown, lowering it over one shoulder. He kissed the exposed flesh, moving from one area of her body to the next in smooth fluid motions. Confidence and smugness seeped from him as Hermione writhed and moaned beneath him.

"Wait," she gasped, her words contradicting her actions; as George tried to pull away, her fingers dug into his buttocks, her hips rose to ground into his.

George groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder, lightly nipping the skin their. He kissed the red flesh he had just bitten and rolled onto his back. Absentmindedly he pulled the sheet over his erection before propping himself up on his elbow to study the panting, flushed girl beside him.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asked. Neither his tone nor his face showed anger but Hermione felt a stab of guilt none-the-less.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just … I mean I've never… I don't want it to be…" She fumbled over her words as she tried to explain to George that she didn't want to be another notch on his belt, not that she thought he would think like that. But she was a virgin and didn't want her first time to be a random thing. She cared too much about George and about herself to do that. Instant gratification was all well and good but would it outweigh the doubtless more months she's going to spend mooning over him? Was one night of passion enough for her if she was never allowed to touch him again? If he saw this as nothing more then a physical release after a stressful night and cast her aside in the morning, was it worth it?

"I can't do this," Hermione said quietly. She turned her eyes on George to find him watching her intensely. She lifted her hand to place on his cheek and offered one last soft kiss. "My heart can't take it."

Wordlessly she rose from the bed and left without a backward glance. George stared after her, his head a jumble of thoughts, his body screaming for release.

"'My heart can't take it?'" he repeated to the empty flat. Slowly, George climbed out of the bed and made his way back to his former seat by the fire. His erection slowly died as he poured himself a drink and directed his thoughts to what had just taken place, the words Hermione had first spoken when she came into his room.

'I can't. I'm too selfish. You can't give yourself to me to give to someone else. Ask someone else to do it. I can't for one minute more in good faith put other women in your path. I know with perfect clarity that I would deliberately set about to betray that trust and keep you for my own. Don't ask it of me.'

George's brained worked with unprecedented speed as it jumped from one conclusion to another. Hermione at the very least crushed on him, probably really liked him, and maybe even loved him. She had continued to set George up with women despite her own feelings because he had asked her to. Tonight, though, had been her breaking point. She couldn't do it anymore. When he had tried to be with her, make love to her, she had seen it as something physical and wanted more then that. She wasn't willing to wager her heart against what both their bodies obviously wanted.

And with all these stunning revelations came the crystal clear thought that she was perfect for him. She wasn't the most beautiful, she wasn't the funniest, she was definitely the most intelligent, the bossiest, the strongest, the most suited to counterbalance him and match him in the most important ways.

His mind wandered over his memories of the bushy haired woman and with his new eyes he saw a goddess. Everything he had been looking for and a whole lot more that he hadn't. Even the memories of fights, when she had completely pissed him off, he couldn't deny that the fiery spark in her eyes turned him on nearly as much as her soft willing body had.

"I like Hermione," he said to his owl, which was once again back on his perch, a mouse now clutched in one claw. He hooted at his owner. It was a mocking noise. Obviously Randolph had known this for some time. "What to do?" he asked the room. "Flowers? Chocolates? Romantic dinners and walks in the park?"

George stood up suddenly and paced the length of the flat's main living area. Outside, the sky grew light. His mind quickly ran through and discarded several plans. If he knew Hermione, and he sorely hoped he did, anything he did would have to be true and honest. Anything less, anything more and she would think he just wanted her back in his bed. Which he did but he wanted her there in the morning and the next night and the next morning too. Now that his heart and his mind were made up he wanted Hermione more permanently in his life with a yearning that was almost painful.

He steps stumbled slightly. 'Hold on,' he thought to himself. 'A few hours ago you were on a date with another woman then Hermione shows up and you suddenly love her? You, my man, are foxed. Go to bed, get some rest and see what happens in the morning.' George nodded then realised he must be drunker then he thought he was; he was talking – and agreeing – with himself. Yes, time for bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Hermione was up, dressed and glaring at her fireplace as she paced in short quick steps in front of it.

"I am a grown woman," she said to the flames. "I have responsibilities and I will not let one almost night of passion derail me from carrying out those responsibilities. Ever Sunday for years I've been going to the Burrow for lunch. George and his perfect body will not stop me!"

Determined to act her normal, prompt self, Hermione scooped up some floo powder and soon found herself in the Burrow's kitchen. She brushed the dust and ash from her clothes and turned her attention to the room. She was usually the first to arrive. Not today.

Fred and George stood by the stove, talking quietly while their mother watched suspiciously from another counter where she was chopping apples up.

"Hermione!" she cried happily, spotting the young woman. The twins paused in their conversation to throw her a quick 'hello' before continuing their stirring and the talking.

"Fred and George were over first thing to help," Mrs Weasley said and there was nothing hiding the suspicion that edged that statement. They may be successful businessmen, one a husband and father, but nothing could ease their mother's worries or reservations. "Keep an eye on them," Mrs Weasley whispered to her before she set her wand on the large dishes on the table, directing them into the air and out the door.

Hermione didn't have to look to know what the back yard looked like. Family meals were never small but with most of the Weasley children married and breeding like rabbits, there was no way they would have all fit in the kitchen. Soon the large back yard would be filled with tables and chairs, toddlers and babies would be perched on hips, in high chairs or sprawled out on blankets.

As soon as his mother was out the door, George stopped stirring and turned to Hermione. Instinctually she took a step back. Hermione studied his face, the serious set to his mouth, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration, and fought the urge to flee.

George watched the panic and fear dance across Hermione's face and, with a bit of effort, relaxed his expression into something more neutral.

"Can we talk?" George asked quietly. Hermione glanced over his shoulder to see Fred watching them. His attention was completely on them and he didn't realise that the spoon he was stirring with was now hovering a few inches above the saucepan, circling through thin air.

"Sure," Hermione squeaked out. George took her elbow in his hand and led her through the hall to his father's study that he had added on the year before. He closed the door behind him and indicated for Hermione to take a seat on the couch, he sat on the edge of the desk facing her.

"I'm sorry about last night," Hermione said before George could begin. "That was unforgivable. Laying all that on you and then leaving you in the middle of… when you were still…" She hadn't intended on saying anything and now the words rushed out of her mouth. "I worked very hard to ensure you never knew how I felt and if it's all right with you, I'd like to just pretend last night never happened."

She watched as George watched her. He studied her carefully, his blank face giving nothing away. She felt herself blush under his intense scrutiny.

"I can't do that," he said finally. "You see, it took all my will to not rush after you last night and then when I woke up first thing this morning all I wanted to do was see you. Fred thought I had lost it but now that he's thought about it, he knows what I know."

"What do you know?" Hermione asked, hope blooming in her.

"You've opened my eyes and I know that I was a fool and you were standing right there the whole time and I could never see it."

He expected hugs, kisses, smiles. He expected her to run into his arms and confess her love. He did not expect her to burst into tears and run from the room. Obviously she didn't believe him. He was going to have to take drastic measures.

"Right," he said, coming up to where Fred was stirring the sauce. "We do it your way. Put it in."

"Are you sure?" Fred asked, taking out the phial of orange liquid.

"I'm sure," George said firmly, nodding to emphasize his point. "Do it."

* * *

The first indication that something was up was George and Fred's snigger as everyone eagerly tucked into the Apple Pie. Fred and George laughing right after you ate something was never a good sign. The gathered crowd's fears were put slightly at ease as George himself finished his slice in record time. Those same fears shot through the roof – rather the shade tent Bill had set up – when Fred flatly refused to have anything to do with the pie.

Mrs Weasley was on her feet and screeching before anything happened. Halfway through her lecture though she stopped dead and turned to Harry.

"I know you didn't spend last night in your own bed Harry James Potter. It's about time you made an honest woman out of my daughter!" The male Weasleys turned as one to glare at the raven haired man, now cowering behind his blushing girlfriend.

"Fleur is pregnant again!" Bill announced.

"I snuck off to see a Football match last week," Mr Weasley confessed.

"Ginny, will you marry me?"

One by one, every one was forced to reveal something, some things were sweet, some embarrassing. Charlie's fiancé revealed she didn't want to live in Romania which saddened Charlie but cheered everyone else up.

Finally it was down to George, Fred and Hermione. Fred was immune, not have eaten any of the Apple Pie laced with the secret revealing potion.

Hermione coughed once as her will battled against the potion trying to force out her secret but it was a well brewed potion and before she could escape, the truth was flowing from her mouth.

"I've liked George for months and last night we nearly had sex."

A stunned silence greeted her ears as the group turned from her to George and back again.

"Hermione is perfect for me. I love her."

George didn't know the truth of the words until he spoke them. He was oblivious to his family as he met Hermione's eyes across the crowded table.

"It's the truth," he promised.

She stared hard into his face, searching, before flashing him a blindingly happy smile.

"I believe you."


End file.
